Late Night or Early Morning
by sarahmw42
Summary: Chapter 17 updated! Whumpage, foul language, petty arguments, confusion, alien planets! So Jack & Daniel! Oh how I love season 1. You too, huh? Worth the read then. An early mission doesn't quite go as planned, but when do they ever? JD Friendship
1. Late Night or Early Morning

_Authors note: This is quite pointless. And I'm just no good at writing long stories with… well… plot. But here's a snippet… too long to be a drabble… that came to mind this evening. This chapter was originally a stand-alone, but I've since added more. Still, it's only loosely related to the rest of the story - much more introspective and much less direct than the other chapters. It could have stayed on it's own, but I think it will have a place by the end of the story. : )_

* * *

I never was a fan of beer. Especially that … stuff… Jack likes to drink. 

But tonight… the cool glass bottle he's pushing into my hands, wet with condensation against my sweaty, shaking palms, is like heaven.

I hold the bottle close to my face, rubbing the heel of my left hand against the glass.

My eyes are still closed. I let out a shaking breath, trying to calm my nerves.

I know if I touched the glass to my forehead, it would be like ice, so I don't.

I don't move the bottle closer, but I do breathe in the cool air, the aura around it.

Eventually I lean my head further down, not against the bottle, but against that left hand, still not quite caressing that bottle. My elbows are against my knees, one foot sneaking under the other on the floor to warm my chilled toes and ankles.

It's late, I know.

And I'd rather be sleeping – but at the same time…

…

I'll just stay awake. Such that I am.

Jack, for once, says nothing.

Eventually, I hear Jack put his bottle down on the table. It's a dull sound, not the clink of glass against ceramic, and I know he must not have put down coasters this time. He'll be complaining tomorrow about the hazy circles on the waxed finish, tough guy that he is.

I keep holding my bottle in its awkward position. Sooner or later I'll have to drink it.

I know it will probably help chase away some of the demons, for better or worse, but still…hell.

I shift position, leaning back against the couch rather than in my previous protective crouch, bringing my feet up under me, sick of the coolness toward the floor. Damn Colorado. I hate the cold.

Finally, I take a long pull from the bottle.

Huh.

Jack sees me open my eyes in question.

I glance at the label.

"Local," he says. "I know you think the norm is a bit… heavy."

Master of understatement, that Jack. And I have to agree with him.

"So," he continues, "I thought you'd like this one better."

It's still a beer. But it's a light amber, flavorful. I squint to see the label… it's…

"Flowers? And a bicycle?" Like I said, tough guy.

"Yeah, well," he says. "Bicycle, tire." He shrugs. "Whatever."

I see he still has his much darker brew.

He shifts just a little closer, the warmth at my side now a counterpoint to the cool glass in my hand.

His feet are on the coffee table, our thighs now barely touching, his right to my left.

I lean toward him a bit more, seeking that warmth, putting my head on his shoulder.

It's far too late to question such things, and Jack seems to agree.

I can feel his sigh more than I can hear it, either way, I'm not sure he intended me to.

I close my eyes again, content.

"Thanks," I say.

Although, at this hour of the night – or morning – whatever it is, I'm not sure it's the beer I'm thanking him for.

"Anytime," he answers.

* * *

_Authors note: I was going to name the beer, but this story isn't actually about the beer, so I guess it doesn't matter._


	2. A Night Watch

_I suppose I should have put in a disclaimer. _

_1. I make no guarantees you'll enjoy this story. 2. I make no guarantees anyone else will enjoy this story either. 3. I'm certainly not making any money thanks to this questionably enjoyable story. And 4, if I owned any of it, I'm sure I wouldn't have to say any of the above three._

_This is another short character study, virtually plot-free on it's own, but the start of a (gasp) plot carried on in the later chapters.  
_

* * *

"I'm not sure I'll be able to stop thinking about it." 

I'm not really sure why I bothered to say that out loud.

The words, in the form of my rapidly cooling breath, hang in front of me after I speak - a kind of proof that I did, in fact, say them out loud.

It's quiet here.

We're on watch, Jack and I.

I'm not sure what time it is, here, or on Earth.  
I guess I wasn't really paying attention.

I should be more… in the moment… especially on watch… but I can't seem to focus.

I am _watching…_technically. Taking in what's around me much in the same way I do those rare times I drive home from the mountain. I see what's around me, I see the traffic, but the driving is automatic, actions ingrained. Reflex tells me to slow when there are red lights ahead; to accelerate when the road is clear. But I don't really take anything in.

My mind, as is usual lately, is elsewhere.  
But Jack knows this. I think that's why we're on watch in pairs.

He didn't say anything. Not really. Just said it was "too damn cold" to be stuck sitting out here alone.

Deserts can be funny that way. By mid-morning, it will be anything but cold here.

There are two moons. One seems much larger than the other, closer to the horizon, an effect Sam, or even Jack, could explain. It's one of those things though – I don't care why one looks bigger. Not really.

I didn't tell Sam that when she did start to explain it.

Jack is absently sifting some sand between his fingers. He's wearing those gloves of his, the cut-offs. I don't know why he wears them in the cold. But I suppose he wouldn't be bothering with the sand if he couldn't feel it against his skin.

I think taking that luxury would be a bit much for me tonight, so I look away again, and continue my almost-watch.

"It's ok to think about it," he says quietly, without turning to me.

I keep glancing around for the third moon, but of course, there are only two.

* * *

_I kind of like writing these short little views, so I may write some more. Kinda warming up for something, perhaps plotty, and... with a plot. _


	3. It's always Daniel

_The disclaimer still applies. These stories were originally written as stand-alone character studies, but have since morphed into continuous chapters. Admittedly sparse, with some gaps in between - but first person POV's of key scenes from a mission that didn't quite go as planned.  
_

* * *

"Come on, Daniel." 

He's not really with me here, he's been in and out for a while...

And now, he's pretty much out.

Damn.

He took a pretty good crack to the head, I can still see the trail from the nosebleed too.

I don't know exactly how it happened, he was mostly out by the time I found him.

I never did rouse him properly.

I shake him now, gently, as I say his name again, tapping against his cheek, keeping quiet.

I don't want _them_ to hear me.

I think Daniel's down for the count.

I have no idea what I'm going to do about it.

For now, we'll have to hide here. Just until that first moon sets, it's casting an awful lot of light.

But I swear to god I'll get him out of here, even if I have to carry him all the way back to the gate.

The cave is small, really just more of an overhang.

But it provides enough cover, and luckily – luckily – there's been a bit of a breeze tonight, smoothing down the sand, erasing the evidence of our passing – my boot prints, and the long furrows where Daniel's feet drug through the sand. Only a pattern of smooth ripples, like slowly moving water, remain, with the high points catching the moonlight just so.

I can't say I'm surprised. I wish I could say I was surprised, I mean, the planet was supposed to be deserted, and it _is_ a desert for cryin' out loud– for as far as we, the MALP, and even the damn UAV could see.

But I know _that_ don't mean squat.

Sound carries in the desert.

The swish of sand as you walk in it, as the breeze moves it. The soft sounds of Carter sleeping in the tent, her breathing, her shifts of position against the nylon sleeping bag.

Teal'c hardly makes any sound at all.

This time Daniel had taken the perimeter. No reason not to let him, I could tell a bit of walking would do him good. With so little obstruction in our view of the surrounding desert, it probably wasn't even necessary to walk it.

He knew that.

I can understand sometimes a guy just needs a bit of time to himself.

I didn't even see it happen. The large, dark landscape, the shine of the sand – the monotony – in reality, it lulls you into a sense of security. You feel like you can see forever, but only because there's not much to see – nothing to give a sense of scale.

But the sound – there was no trick to the sound.

The soft, surprised yelp from Daniel.

The heavy, dulled sound of his body hitting the ground.

And the unmistakable sound of something being dragged through the sand.

And as I headed in that direction, hugging close the ground, with my sidearm ahead of me before I could remember drawing it, I cursed the fact that I didn't have the P90 at hand.


	4. Deserted, you say?

_So. Chapter 4, of what was originally planned as a one-off POV. But I really like writing in this sparser style. I keep getting these glimpses of what could work themselves into a plot… and I hadn't been planning on anything so enterprising. Anyway – this chapter is, in fact, a direct continuation of the last. Maybe it works. You tell me. And with my very kind reviewers – I felt I had to continue- so this is for them. : )_

* * *

I guess this explains why we had no idea they were here. 

None. Nada.

Zip.

Zilch.

The technology doesn't look Goa'uld to me, although Carter'd be able to tell better.

I think the caveman using it could be one indication.

And seriously? I think Daniel's met his lifetime "dragged away by cavemen" quota already.

But that's just me.

I really wish I'd been able to grab Teal'c and Carter.

I wish I could find out why they haven't answered my hails too...

Although it seems to me that's not exactly addressing the root cause of this issue.

And, if wishes were horses, then we wouldn't want to put the cart before 'em, now would we?

---

The technology appears to be some kind of transporter. Not a ring transporter though.

The big, bad guys step onto the platform, barely distinguishable from the rest of the sand – probably impossible to see from the air – and FLASH! They're gone.

It could also be disintegrating them for all I know. But seeing how we went from deserted desert paradise to two-star caveman convention in the time it took to run half a klick, I'm thinkin' that's not the case.

I so don't want Daniel to be the one to test that theory.

---

The one that's snagged Daniel seems to be last in line.

The brute has Daniel by the back of his vest, dragging him through the sand with one hand wound through the vest's shoulder strap, and thank god for that, because otherwise I think he'd have dragged Daniel by the shirt and probably throttled him or worse.

If one more of these guys goes, I think I can take the other two.

I don't see any weapons on them – well - unless you count those ham-sized fists.

I glance at Daniel, doing his rag-doll impression.

Damn it.

---

My finger is itching on the trigger.

The problem is, they're too close to Daniel.

Best case?

One of those Neanderthals falls right on him.

Worst case?

I don't even want to think about that, but my vision strays to that huge hand, wrapped up in the vest. Close enough the thing's probably having to concentrate to _not_ break Daniel's neck.

Goon number three steps onto the platform, and in the flash that decides his fate, I decide the fate of Daniel's chauffeur with one well-placed shot.

I don't even remember shifting my aim for goon number two.


	5. We've got to move

_Another somewhat-continuation. In retrospect, I think chapter 1 should have been it's own story, and the rest of the chapters a second one, but I'm going to go with it anyway. Thanks to those who've reviewed. Disclaimer still applies._

* * *

I hate this planet, I've decided. 

It's frustratingly familiar, so like Abydos it's almost painful.

Although, I'm getting the distinct feeling I'm experiencing pain that isn't entirely emotional…

Everything's pretty foggy though.

Something's shaking me. Tapping my face.

Isn't that annoying.

"Go 'way," I mumble. I try to swat at it, but I don't think I'm very successful.

What was I saying again?

"Daniel."

Ok. I didn't say that.

"_Daniel."_

Ah. I know that tone of voice. Quiet but urgent, frustrated but concerned at the same time. I wonder what his problem is…

"Yes, Jack."

Oh! Is that my voice?

I may have just answered my own question.

Anyway… what was I saying again?

"Daniel, you with me here?"

Again with the tapping.

Did I mention I hate this planet? It's cold. Not brutally so, but cold enough that I can feel it creeping down the collar of my jacket, and the side of my face that's exposed is a little bit numb.

The _side _of my face that's exposed? While I'm sitting here with the cogs turning what even I can tell is much slower than usual, wondering why only half of me is chilly, Jack interrupts again.

"Daniel, I _need_ you with me here."

And that's when it occurs to me that Jack's voice sounds different – deeper, somewhat muffled.

Which is probably because I'm leaning on his chest.

That can't be too good, so I open my eyes.

Jack must have been watching for that, or maybe he could feel my slight change in posture.

"You with me now, Daniel?" He must have asked that question a million times, still in a quiet voice. At least he's not yelling at me.

"Apparently," I say. My voice still sounds atrocious.

"I'm not even going to ask how many fingers I'm holding up," he says.

That's probably for the best. I don't even bother to answer. No point denying the obvious, I have a feeling something's going on seeing as I'm waking up here, this way. I'm not sure I can form long enough sentences anyway.

"We have to move," Jack says, and I'm still hearing him in that distorted voice, held up against him.

I can really only manage to grunt my assent. I don't dare nod.

I don't want to go anywhere, but I'm not too keen on staying here either.

"Can you stand?" he asks.

Can I stand?

That's a dumb question.

I can't even sit up without leaning against Jack.

"Wha' 'appened?" I manage to slur.

"You took a crack to the head," Jack says. "You're lucky the bastard didn't crack your skull open."

What?

I must have said that out loud.

"Daniel, we need to move," he starts; he's speaking slowly, apologetically. "We're standing up now."

And with that, the arm around my back tightens its grip, another wraps itself around my bicep, and the rest of the process is pretty fuzzy. The world feels like it's spinning out of control, and I can hear ringing in my ears.

Jack's grip grounds me a bit though, and the feeling does pass - mostly. He's hauled me up off the ground, and is holding me as steadily as he can. He's not saying anything, and sounds like I'm moaning just a little bit.

I have to try harder to be quiet, because I get the feeling we're not in the greatest situation. Even in the state I'm in, I know Jack wouldn't usually drag me around with what must be quite the concussion, in the dark, when its doubtful I'll be walking much unassisted.

Which makes me wonder why it's Jack hauling me around…

"Sam, Teal'c?" I mumble.

"No idea," he answers.

Ok. So, not good at all.

* * *

_daa dot da... di dot... (that's a stinger folks!)_


	6. What threshold was that?

_And so the story continues. As you can probably tell by now, we're following the same adventure, checking in at key moments. Longest chapter yet, and some season 1 spoilers. Disclaimer still applies._

* * *

Shit. 

Lying at the top of the dune overlooking camp, I can't help but have mixed feelings.

The camp is deserted.

In the early morning sun, which is still very low on the horizon, what's left of the tent, some of it in shreds, stands out in silhouette. The MALP is actually lying on its side, and I hope to god it's still functional.

No Carter or Teal'c.

Of course, that means no dead Carter or Teal'c, so like I said, mixed feelings.

Luckily I don't think Daniel's as bad off as I originally thought. I think the thing actually clubbed him with its _hand_. He's got a hell of a lump on the back of his head, a cut along one temple, from his glasses I think, and he probably bloodied his nose hitting the ground. It could have been a lot worse.

But head injuries can be tricky things.

When he's upright, he's still stumbling, trying to stay with it, but seems coherent enough to know we're in trouble here. Now that we've stopped, I think it's gonna be tough getting him back up. His head's down, that hair of his is hanging in his eyes. He hasn't asked for his glasses yet… probably for the best since they're not in the greatest shape.

Landing on them tends to do that.

There must have been some kind of struggle, there's a body down there – not one of mine - I'll have to get closer to see who took it out.

"You gonna make this?" I ask him.

"I'm fine," he replies.

Sure his is. But at least his words aren't so slurred anymore.

With a final check to make sure the goons are gone, I pull his arm over my shoulder.

---

"You know, ummm, technically, I think you're right about this guy being a, being a 'caveman'."

I look over to Daniel, who's sitting up, leaning against one of the equipment crates we brought this time out. His voice is much clearer, and his vision must be improving because he's put the glasses back on. I did the best I could straightening the frames, but they're still a bit… off. I'd handed them to him when I first sat him down, and he hadn't said much about their condition. Just looked kinda resigned about it.

Now they're hanging low on his nose as they often do, and as usual, he doesn't seem to care too much. He actually compensates by tilting his head back a bit to see through them better.

You'd think he'd just push them up, but that's Daniel for you.

"It doesn't make a ton of sense though."

I don't quite like to long pauses between his sentences, but at least he's talking.

"What's that?" I prompt.

"He, ummm, does actually look like a Neanderthal, you know… ummm, anatomically."

"I coulda told you that," I say.

He doesn't continue right away. He seems to be drifting a bit, and he's physically listing a little to the side.

The thing is, he was pretty spacey even before the knock to the head, even during the watch last night, so I'm not quite sure how much of this is due to the concussion.

It's been hard on him, adjusting. Since we lost Sha're and the kid, I feel pretty bad about it – but it was his _wife_. His only family.

Now being here – even I'm reminded of Abydos.

So maybe pulling this planet wasn't such a great idea.

Best to keep him talking I think.

"Daniel."

He looks up a bit, doesn't manage to sit much straighter, but he does make eye contact over the top of his glasses.

"Neanderthals? Doesn't make sense?"

"This is a, this is a desert, Jack."

Give the boy a prize.

"And? So? Therefore?"

Just the kind of response to get his dander up. His eyes flash over to me, a little more annoyed, a lot more aware.

"Jack, as a species, _H. neanderthalensis_ were adapted to colder climates." He pauses. "Large skull, robust build, large noses." His hand makes a rolling motion as if he planned on continuing, but he doesn't.

I'm surprised he can still use ten-dollar words while concussed, but I think I'm getting far less of the story than I would otherwise.

"And look, look at his clothing…"

I follow the hand Daniel's waved in our caveman's direction…

He's wearing some kind of scraggly fur.

"What about it?" I ask.

"Little warm for a desert," is all he says.

---

Like Abydos, this planet has thirty-six hour days. It rotates more slowly than the Earth I think, probably has a larger circumference as well.

Carter would be able to show me some kind of equation to figure it out – but I've always been more of an observational astronomer myself. When the sun takes a really long time to rise, and a really long time to set, I can venture to guess things are a bit different than at home.

I need to get to the gate.

Daniel has to go back.

And I have to find Carter and Teal'c – if they didn't get through to Earth already, that is.

The gate is almost an hour from here on foot, and that'll be hard on Daniel. And with him in this condition, it'll be longer. The sun will come up on the way.

And I don't know for sure where the bad guys are. I've got nowhere to hide on the way, and Daniel getting clubbed again – would definitely be a very bad thing.

I just hope there isn't any cumulative damage… he was out for hours after getting thrown into that wall on Chulak. And I have no idea how long he was out after the Touched clubbed him. But all this damage in the space of a couple months can't be good.

This sucks.

One injured, two missing, no backup, enemy location unknown.

The alternatives suck too.

One – leave Daniel behind and go for help.

As if.

Two – stay put for a few hours, miss our check-in, and hope Hammond gives us a call. Assuming the MALP is working.

I'm a pilot, not a technician, so who the hell knows.

I glance over at Daniel, who seems to be dozing off again.

Tent it is.

"Come on Daniel," I say as I head over to him. "Up and at 'em."

Not too much of a response.

Great. Doesn't look like he'll be standing up on his own just yet, and this many hours later, I'm so not going to think about how _not_ good that is.

Like before, I pull one arm over my shoulder and slowly pull him up with me.

Unlike before, he doesn't just sway – this time, after what I've got to call a strangled kind of sound he goes completely limp – a dead weight.

"Daniel!"

I bend my knees a bit to take his weight; tighten my grip around his waist. This is so not going to work. I don't think throwing him over my shoulder is going to do him a lot of good, so I adjust my grip, bracing an arm behind his shoulders, and slipping the other behind his knees, and I carry him toward the tent.

Damn it, Daniel looks a lot lighter than he actually is.

If Ferretti were around to see this, I'd never hear the end of it.

I don't make it all the way to the tent though, not even close to the proverbial threshold.

And as I near the entrance, the texture of the sand underfoot changes – hardens a bit.

Before I can even begin to form a reason for noticing this in my mind, there's a bright flash of light.

* * *

_And the plot... develops. Thanks to my reviewers, you guys rock. : )  
_


	7. If we survive the night

_Not sure if anyone checks out MSOL (and if not, why not?) but it has an interview with MS posted that has HUGE spoilers for Continuum. One the one hand – I regret reading it. On the other hand…oh the possibilities. If you don't want to be spoiled, __**don't**__ read it. 'Cause it's a __**biggie**__. In any case, that's neither here nor there… so on with the story._

* * *

"…Daniel?" 

"Wha?" I grumble, still slurring. Great. I open my eyes, squinting really, to see Jack leaning over me.

"I said how many fingers am I holding up Daniel?"

"I umm, thought you weren't gonna ask me that?" I know I'm whining, but that doesn't hold me back.

Not like I could tell him anyway. I shut my eyes against the flashlight Jack's shining near my face.

"I need you to look at me Daniel, open your eyes."

I'm so not in the mood. I try to roll over, to get away from Jack's pestering, but his hand grips my jaw, turning my face back toward him. The other hand rests lightly on my brow.

I know if I don't open them, he's gonna do it for me, so I comply this time, opening my eyes to see both Jacks now fussing over me.

"Pupils look even, that's good."

His hand slips behind my neck, lifting me up just a bit. The other now goes to the lump at the back of my head.

"I think it was just the... the change in position," I say, referring to my latest swoon. Although, I'm not too sure, it's pretty dark and I'm convinced the sun was coming up earlier.

"How long have I been out?" I ask.

"Not long," he replies.

That doesn't make a lot of sense.

Jack sits back a bit, and I notice something I should have seen a heck of a lot earlier.

We're hiding in brush.

Not the scraggly, desert kind of brush I may have expected to see near the camp – the thick, evergreen variety.

And there's snow on the ground.

---

"We could be half-way around the planet!"

"I know."

"I wish I'd gotten a better look at the, the constellations last night…"

"I know that Daniel."

"Did you…"

Jack doesn't really answer - he just sighs. My voice is a little harsh from all this whispering – did you know whispering is actually harder on the vocal chords than just speaking quietly? People's first instinct when they overtax their vocal chords to the point of pain is to start whispering, and trust me, it doesn't help. Long hours of practicing diction teach you more than just proper pronunciation… but I suppose that's neither here nor there. And in this case, I'm pretty sure we have a need to keep quiet.

Still…

It's quite dark.

"I think we've got a long way until sunrise," I say. "I, I doubt we're anywhere near the same latitude."

"So I gathered."

Boy is Jack talkative. And since when are transportation systems one-way? If I remember correctly, rings go both ways... I think.And, it should, right? Otherwise, what's the point? Like everything else on this planet, it just doesn't make sense.

"Jack, there was no arrival platform at all?"

"Not that I could see."

There _is_ snow all over the ground though. I wonder if Jack thought of that…

"Maybe it's a bit below the surface… did you try…"

"Daniel." He interrupts me, sounding exasperated for some reason. "I had my hands full at the time."

"Wh..what?…" I manage. Oh, Right. "That's right." I stutter.

No response from Jack this time.

"Thanks for that, by the way."

---

Let me tell you something I liked about Abydos – it was warm.

Sure, it could get cold at night, but the adobe buildings of the town kept everything pretty well insulated. And Sha're…

Needless to say, it wasn't chilly.

But this – wet, cold darkness is anything but pleasant.

We won't be moving on until light. And judging by the rate of temperature drop, the sun had probably just set when we arrived here.

And it's going to get colder. Much colder.

Jack won't let me do too much, he's concerned about the concussion. I mean, he must be, as we're not charging off looking for Captain-Doctor Carter – _Sam_ I mean – and Teal'c.

"We have no idea where they are," he'd said. "They may have made it back to the gate."

"B- But we don't _know_ that, Jack," I'd pushed back. "They could be hurt!"

"And you _are_ hurt," he'd said after a moment, quietly, and he'd actually looked me in the eye. The moment passed quickly though. Then, in what I'd call his 'colonel voice' – cool command with a note of finality – he'd declared, "We stay here."

And all I could do was stare back at him, because despite my protests, despite my strong desire to do _something_, he was right. I couldn't really stand up without throwing up or worse, never mind trough around in the snow, in the dark, looking around for a way back.

"Go without me," I'd said simply. And I'd meant it. I didn't want him pinned down because of me.

Jack had just looked at me, not giving much away.

"We'll move out at first light," he'd said, with much more confidence than I'd felt.

So, that's our plan.

If we survive the night.

* * *

_Hmmm... _

_The nice thing about writing season 1 is watching season 1 - for research purposes of course. _


	8. Dry feet are happy feet

_So, still writing. And hopefully you're still reading. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, I appreciate all of your comments. I'll be traveling this coming week for work, so I probably won't be updating – but I'll be back on the weekend. : ) So, for me, this is a pretty long chapter. I did research and everything!. Not action filled, I admit, but I like it anyway as a transitional chapter… on with the story.  
_

* * *

_  
Cold is a far greater threat to survival than it appears. It decreases your ability to think and weakens your will to do anything except to get warm. Cold is an insidious enemy; as it numbs the mind and body, it subdues the will to survive. _

_Cold makes it very easy to forget your ultimate goal--to survive. _

There seems to be a lot working against me this trip out. It's yet another reminder that injuries are hardly ever simple, especially when in the field. I knew this, from my time out on digs, and in some of my rather brief training with SG1, it was re-iterated.

In Hollywood, anything short of losing a limb seems to be a "flesh wound" or less. In reality, that's usually not true. A simple, untreated wound can become debilitating, and it can be easily compounded by the conditions – the environment – or by subsequent injury. This was something I stressed with my students. This is also something Jack stressed with me. I can hear the military teaching, in his voice: "Treat all injuries, no matter how minor. Loss of your health will mean loss of your ability to continue to avoid capture." It will also mean loss of your ability to prevent further injury – whether or not you're in a hostile situation.

I _do _remember these things – I don't have multiple PhD's for nothing.

I know, somehow, I've gained a more than moderate concussion from my tussle with the locals, and I know that even though I've been _mostly_ lucid, I'm not quite there yet.

Normally with this kind of injury, and it pains me to be able to classify this as a usual thing, I'd end up in the infirmary on bed-rest for a couple days at least. On digs, the SGC infirmary was exchanged for my tent with students watching over me – but the principle was the same.

I got some actual rest. This is exactly what should be done with concussion.

Without rest though, things are likely to get worse.

And that seems to be what's happening here.

Wherever we've ended up, it's damn cold. I'm sure I'll be adding hypothermia to my list of concerns, but I don't really want to think about that. In one of my sporadic moments of clarity, I recall Jack actually putting some pine boughs beneath me, alien ones anyway, to get me out of the snow. It's amazing the percentage of planets we've been on that have been so similar to the Pacific Northwest. You'd think we'd find something truly alien, but so far only that planet with the blue crystals – what was its designation? – was really – different.

I guess that's beside the point.

Jack's working on something, moving around our impromptu camp site, but he's checking on me a lot, he's always nearby. I wish I could pull myself together – at the very least to be less of a burden on him, but here and now? My head is pounding, the world is more than bit fuzzy, and did I mention its pretty cold? I'm not even sure I can feel my toes anymore.

Earlier, Jack was cinching my collar up around my neck, pulling the sleeves of my jacket to cover my wrists, and pulling an emergency blanket around me and over my head. He murmured to me while he was doing it, whether to teach me something, or to reassure himself, I'm not sure.

"You gotta to watch it," he'd said as he double checked that my pant bottoms were tucked into my boots, "These areas – your head, obviously, but your neck, wrists, ankles- loose the most heat. Gotta keep you covered up, big guy."

Actually, I don't think he thought I could hear him…

He'd used the light to check on me, shining it toward my face, but luckily avoiding shining it directly in my eyes. I'm not sure it showed him anything he'd wanted to see, as he'd laid his partially-gloved hands on my cheeks before actually pinching them.

"Hey!" I'd slurred out.

"Don't wantcha to get frostbite, Daniel," he'd said. "Make faces or something – keep moving… while you're awake." The last part was said pretty quietly, but I heard it anyway.

I don't think I managed too much though – I don't remember responding to him.

I recall him calling me 'big guy' back on Chulak – right when I'd come out of it from _that_ concussion… and wasn't that pleasant. I'd been greeting Skarra – I don't even remember the conversation. I'd stood up _way_ too soon, was pulled into a crushing hug by my brother-in-law, and next thing I knew, I was heading toward the ground again.

"Easy big guy, welcome back to the land of the conscious." Jack had said, as he eased me toward the ground.

I was pretty useless on that mission too. I was out for god only _knows_ how many hours after hitting that wall, then pretty dazed throughout the fighting.

Just like now. I don't think I'm _seriously_ hurt, but I'm just not with it, even hours later.

_Wonderful_.

---

The next thing I recall, Jack is dragging me off the bed of pine boughs in the snow, and into some kind of pit. It has snow packed up the sides and a roof of pine boughs at the top. The whole thing is under a tree.

I can't believe the snow is actually this deep, never mind this solid.

At the bottom of the depression are more pine boughs, and Jack almost sits me up on these. The shelter is too small to lie down, too short to sit up fully, but I manage a kind of slouch – more "pine" at my back.

Eventually, Jack settles in front of me and starts going through my vest. I'm not quite with it enough to protest the action.

From a pocket I didn't even know existed, he removes a fresh pair of socks.

Of course there'd be socks. What was I thinking?

He starts unlacing my boots, there in the snow-pit.

"Wha" is about all I manage.

"Dry feet are happy feet," is all he says.

He removes my boots, then my wet socks. I think he's inspecting my toes – well, more power to him then. They've been in those boots a long time. Once they've apparently met to his satisfaction, he puts the dry socks, then boots on my feet. He puts my wet socks right under his shirt.

"ugh…" is again about all I manage. I think the cold is getting to me a bit.

"Gotta dry those socks and we've got no fire tonight."

I don't have to ask why really, I know we're hiding from those… natives. But still…

"They'll _dry_ this way," he says.

---

Jack's been surprisingly calm through the whole thing. Although why I'm surprised, I have no idea.

He can be a really cool customer – Jack. I certainly saw that when I first met him. When he returned to Abydos, that second time… he was… lighter. In character, I mean. But that undercurrent of steel – of cold command – it's still there. And clearly, he can switch back when he has to.

It's not quite the same though – even at a time like this – in what is so… _not _a good situation – he still seems more _alive _than that first mission More like he cares what happens to him.

Thank god for that.

---

There's a hand over my mouth and a warmth that must be a body at my back. I'm pulled tight against it, and whoever it is, is tense. I struggle a bit as I become more aware – fighting against my captor.

"Easy," Jack breathes right next to my ear, barely audible. He's close enough that I can feel his breath on my face.

It takes me a moment, but I realize its Jack holding me this way.

I open my eyes to see, but it's pretty dark. Only the barest amount of moonlight works it way down to us, through the overhead, alien pine.

I can see enough though to verify that it is Jack behind me, one arm bracing me against him at enough of an angle that he's also covering my mouth, one knee bent up at my side to keep me from falling over. The other arm holds his sidearm at the ready, the shine of the metal reflecting the wane light.

I give a bare nod to let him know I'm with him, and although he's not looking at me, he feels it, and shifts the hand from my mouth to down across my chest, offering support.

It's then that I realize I'm shivering. A lot.

Jack's still scanning up toward the roof of our little shelter, and I strain to see or hear what it is that's got him on alert.

That's when I hear it.

The crunch of footsteps in the snow.


	9. Things that go crunch in the night

_Back from my trip. I went to Montreal actually, which was interesting. All the road signs were in French, lots of stuff was in French… I really don't speak any at all. Took a cab to the factory I was going to – there were two in town belonging to my company – and the driver took me to the wrong one. Ever try to have a conversation with someone who doesn't speak your language – at all? VERY interesting. Lots of hand waving, gestures, and tone of voice to communicate – and frustration on both sides. Of course, we both laughed about it when we finally got to where we needed to be. Guess I'm not much cut out for first contact… we'll leave that to the pro's._

_And speaking of which…_

* * *

It wasn't Daniel's fault, not really. 

All things considered, he was being very quiet. And so was I.

But you can't only manage to be so quiet when your teeth can't stop chattering and when no matter how hard you try, you can't quite get your breath to stop shuddering because of the cold.

Survival shelters aren't known for keeping you comfortable – they're to keep you _alive._ You can be pretty freakin' miserable and still live.

Although now I'm not so sure what our outcome's gonna be.

The footsteps stopped very close to our location.

_Go Away, go away… goawaygoawaygoaway… _I kept repeating to myself silently, sitting there in the snow, my sidearm at the ready, balancing Daniel against me with my free arm.

I'm not surprised we attracted attention. Now we just have to hope the thing goes away.

I'm worried for Daniel's condition, but I think he'll be OK in the long run – as long as he doesn't get hurt again. That's the bigger issue. He has a concussion, that much is obvious, but it's hard to tell the cause of his continuing symptoms. He's sleepy, and pretty groggy when he wakes up. The few times he's stayed awake for more than a few minutes, he's been basically coherent though, which is a good thing. Some of this could be hypothermia, I think once I get him warmed up, he'll be more alert.

The problem is he's pretty dizzy, and that must be a symptom of the head injury. I've had to be very careful dragging him around – the couple times I got him upright weren't pretty. And I don't think he'll be running anytime soon.

Still silent upstairs.

Daniel is still – except for the trembling from the cold – he hasn't made a move to sit up. He's leaning heavily against me, his head tipped back on my shoulder. It's unusual for him to say he's anything but "fine", so I'm surprised he's not fussing about my handling of him. Glancing toward him, I see he's looking up toward ground level, but he's at half mast at best, blinking slowly. His breathing, which the filtered moonlight barely picks out as a fog hovering in front of his face, is slowing down again too.

Damn it.

I don't want to startle him – he sometimes startles badly and oftentimes startles… less than quietly– but I don't want him going back to sleep either.

**crunch**

_Damn_ it.

I pull Daniel tighter against me, feeling him shaking against me through our too thin jackets. Hell, I'm doing the same. Hopefully if I have to get up, I can pull him up with me this way. I had thought he was only partly with me, but he's weakly bracing his feet against the floor, his hands finding their way to my arm across his chest, gripping it lightly.

Good boy.

**crunch**

I hope to god the thing is passing us by.

I saw the things that dragged Daniel off in the first place, and let me tell you, I don't want to get dragged off by them myself. And Daniel really can't take another hit from these monsters, he's still looped from the last round.

What we need is for the damn sun to come up, the way back to the gate to be obvious, and to blow this popsicle stand.

But I just don't think it's gonna go down that way.

**crunch**

DAMN it!

I take aim, steadying my upper arm against Daniel's shoulder. He finally shifts, barely, silently, turning his face away from my gun arm and tucking in to the crook of his elbow, toward my opposite shoulder.

I think it says a lot that Daniel's not questioning the gun. But I'll think about that later.

**crunch**

The boughs at the top of our shelter shift.

I would love to say I calmly assess the situation before blowing the thing's head off, that I'm an ask questions first, shoot later kind of guy. One that would do Daniel proud.

But for Daniel to be proud of me, he's gotta be alive and breathing.

It only takes me a split second to see that whatever is looking down our hidey-hole, it isn't Carter or Teal'c.

So I fire.

Daniel and I both jump when the gun makes dull popping sound rather than firing, his head snapping up from my shoulder in a move it's easy to tell he regrets as one of the hands that was holding my arm flails a bit as if to get his balance.

My eyes flash for an instant to the weapon.

It's a goddamn squib round, and there's nothing I can do with it right now. Firing a second time would be a _bad_ thing.

I swear to _god_ if that bullet was in the clip backwards, heads are gonna roll.

Looking back to the enemy just as quickly as I'd looked away in shock, staring wide eyed, shivering, clutching Daniel against me, I realize this is kinda a low point. I don't have enough room to maneuver, I can't reach the second Berretta because I'm pinned down by Daniel.

But it was that or freeze, so, six of one…

I, or we rather, are pretty much at this thing's mercy...

But it isn't making a move. It's just watching.

And I'm still pointing the gun at its head.

* * *

_Oh the suspense! I'm pretty happy with this little chapter, I had more, but thought this was good, hopefully suspenseful, stopping point. I had to do more research to even understand how a Beretta even fires, never mind misfires, so any mistakes in the description are mine. Let me know what you think. : )_


	10. Vertigo

_I, or we rather, are pretty much at this thing's mercy..._

_But it isn't making a move. It's just watching._

_And I'm still pointing the gun at its head._

* * *

Oh god, I shouldn't have moved. Not at all.

I couldn't quite control my reaction to the misfire – what a lousy time for _that_ – and the room, pit, whatever it is, is still spinning.

Jack has me pulled up rather tightly against him, so I'm not going to fall over, but I have to really force my breathing to slow down – in and out through my nose – to keep from throwing up.

Suddenly, Jack is pulling me up. He's trying to stand.

Oh, I don't want to move. I try, for Jack, but I really can't get my feet under me, and the phantom movement around me is sickening.

"STAY BACK!" Jack shouts – loudly.

I can't control the spinning, I squeeze my eyes shut and keep trying to get my feet under me, to get some kind of purchase, my one hand still clutching Jack's arm across my chest, the other looking for a wall or something to brace against. I know I'm moaning with the movement, but I can't keep it back.

"BACK THE FUCK OFF!" Jack shouts again – and there's an almost panic to his voice that is just not like him.

There's a jolt as I'm pushed against the "wall" and I feel the cold down my entire side. Jack is bracing me against it, one of my feet is sliding against the slippery, wet pine beneath us, the other braced by Jack's foot.

I lean my forehead against the cold packed snow to try and stop the vertigo and nausea I'm feeling, but it barely helps. My forehead and the tips of my ears start to feel very warm, even in my chilled state, and my hands and fingertips start to get a pins and needles kind of feeling. I know I'm going to be sick.

I feel warmth in front of me, hear Jack's ragged breathing. He's backing up to brace me against the wall with his body.

And, surely, to cover me at the same time.

"I swear to _god_ you had best back off," Jack says, not shouting this time, but in a quiet, deadly voice colder than I've heard from him in a long time. I risk opening my eyes, I'm panting now to keep from throwing up or passing out or whatever is going to happen soon, and see the glint of Jack's knife in the moonlight.

My foot is still sliding. All of me, in fact, is sliding down the wall despite Jack's efforts.

I'm starting to hear a ringing in my ears.

That can't be good.

Knowing you're hyperventilating, and stopping yourself from doing it are two different things.

As the world grows darker, as I continue my slide down the wall toward the floor, I can hear Jack's shout as though it was through water.

"NO!"

* * *

_Ok. I KNOW I'm being evil. Not gonna stop me though. I love dragged out Daniel whumps - what can I say?_


	11. A cup of tea

_Review and you shall receive... : ) Thank you kind reviewers - you guys rock!_

* * *

There's no way this thing is taking Daniel. 

No freakin' way.

I stand in front of him, my knife at the ready. Pretty pathetic when you think about it, but it's what I have and I'll damn well use it.

Whoever...whatever this thing is, its moving slowly, but its moving damn it, and whatever its motive, I want it _away._

"I swear to _god_ you had best back off" I say, in the deadliest voice I can muster through my chattering teeth.

I can hear Daniel behind me, can feel him shuddering at my back. His breathing sounds awful, and he sure don't feel so steady. I try to push him against the wall a bit more, to keep him upright and out of this thing's reach.

It's so gonna have to go through me first.

But Daniel's no lightweight, and I can tell he's going down. I can feel him sliding toward the ground.

Crap.

Crap, crap, crap!

Daniel's buckling, I'm having trouble balancing the two of us with the boughs on the floor sliding beneath us, the thing, this goon, whatever it is, is still moving slowly in our direction.

One of Daniel's shoulders hits my back as he slips free of my hold, and stupidly, I glance in his direction.

As soon as I turn my head, my knife is knocked away, and I'm shoved aside, hitting the opposite snow wall, the area being too small for me to actually hit the ground. Some snow comes loose and trickles down my collar.

"NO!" I shout, whipping my head back around to see that _its_ down here, I didn't even hear it move.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" I shout again, and I know I'm pretty excitable, I know the cold and stress is getting to me. I lunge at it, grabbing one of its huge arms.

Only to see it isn't _doing_ anything to Daniel at all.

Its holding Daniel, caught him, before he hit the floor.

---

There are some things you never expect to happen in life.

Some of those things – you know _can_ happen, you just don't expect them to happen to you.

For example, the death of your child. Always a distant possibility, but not usually seen as something to expect.

You _may_ even classify "going into outer space" in the "not likely" category – and "stepping foot on alien planet" even further out than that, but strangely still _minimally _plausible….

Coming back from the dead… well, same thing, believe it or not.

If I try, _really _hard, I can see the threads of possibility, as _slight _as they may be, for all kinds of strange events I've seen so far in my life.

But honestly. _Honestly?_ I never would have expected to share a cup of tea with a Neanderthal. Never in a million freakin' years.

I only wish Daniel were conscious to see it.

---

It had caught him, back in that emergency shelter - which sucked by the way. I'll have to send in my notes on that one – what not to use on an alien planet where freakin' Neanderthals either have perfect hearing or a sixth sense.

It had caught Daniel before he hit the ground, turning to look at me while I yelled and pulled, and tried my damnedest to get the thing to let Danny go.

But it wasn't threatening, and the look in its eyes, now that I could finally see them, was calm, intelligent.

Not what I was expecting.

I reluctantly let it go, seeing as how I couldn't do anything to it anyway, unarmed and shivering.

And when it took off the huge fur…thing… it was wearing, and bundled it around Daniel, who was hanging limply over its arm, then carefully thread its other arm beneath Danny's knees, it didn't seem as threatening. It seemed almost… caring.

It looked at me again, grunted and nodded its head up toward the outside.

I didn't really have a choice, and hell, at least it was letting me follow.

And now we're here. And yes, as in here, I mean we are in a cave.

Daniel is still bundled near the fire, finally showing some color back in his face. I'm near the fire too, with another skin across my shoulders, sipping some kind of bark tea from a small clay vessel.

Oh boy.

I look to the caveman, I take a deep breath.

"Jack," I say, pointing to myself.

He merely cocked his head and looked at me.

Crap. I roll my eyes, I can't help it.

I've seen Daniel do this enough times, how hard could it be?

"Jack," I say again, repeating the gesture, then pointing at him.

Still nothing.

I point to Daniel. "Daniel," I say.

Then back to myself. "Jack."

And gesture toward the caveman.

"Oog," he says.

Not sure if that's his name, not sure if he gets what I'm doing at all, but hell, I'm gonna go with it.

"Oog," I repeat, gesturing toward him again.

"Thank you." I say.

And we pass more time in silence, me, waiting for Daniel to come to, and Oog, waiting for… whatever it is he's waiting for.

I so have no idea what we're going to do now.

* * *

_So... a minor role reversal. Wonder how much Jack has learned about first contact? Wonder how long it'll be before Daniel gets his wits about him? And geez, what the heck happened to Carter and Teal'c... hmmm..._


	12. Oh, to smell like a yak

_Honestly, it was hard getting to the point where I could write action – especially from a first-person point of view. Reviewers- you are _very_ encouraging! And I appreciate your feedback! Thanks SO much. And now…two posts in one day! WOW! So... on with the story. Also, visit my profile for sketches to go with Late Night or Early Morning._

* * *

"Daniel."

Something's shaking my shoulder again. I'm getting this…strange sense of deja vu…

"You-hoo…. Danny boy…"

Ok. There's only one person this could possibly be. But I'd so rather stay asleep, I'm warm, comfortable, and…

And…

Something doesn't add up about that, but I'm not sure what yet.

I know I'm not in the infirmary – first of all, I smell smoke – a camp fire most likely.

Second – I smell like a… a yak.

"Don't knock it when it saves your life, kid," Jack says. I must have said that last bit aloud. Great.

I open my eyes to see Jack hovering over me, and his time, I can see his face in the firelight.

"Jack," I croak out. Then clear my throat a bit.

"We have to stop meeting like this, Danny," he says – somewhat suggestively I think, which is just… wrong.

"Wha's goin' on," I manage, holding up one arm toward Jack. I can feel Jack sliding an arm beneath my shoulders to help me sit up before he grabs for my questing hand. With my free hand I wipe at my eyes, then look around.

And come face to face with one of the natives!

"JACK!" I shout, trying to scramble back and away from it, pushing with my feet against whatever I'm lying on.

But Jack holds me fast.

He leans in toward my ear. "Don't knock it when it saves you life, kid," he quietly repeats, and this time I know he's talking about the native.

---

"In the morning Oog's going to take us back to the gate," Jack is saying as he hands me a small, earthen vessel with something warm inside.

"Oog," I say, staring dumbly between Jack and his new friend.

I'm sitting near the fire, a rather large fur pelt wrapped around my shoulders. It's well tanned, soft leather with dark, surprisingly clean fur. I mean, yes, it does have a …smell… to it, but it's not matted or otherwise poorly cared for.

"That's right," Jack says rather proudly, "This is Oog."

I stare at Jack a little more, not even trying to keep the disbelief from my face.

"And," I draw out a bit, in a flat voice, "he's going to take us… back to the gate." I draw out that last word as well.

I know by now I'm speaking a bit too slowly, looking over the top of my glasses, but I don't care too much.

"That he is." Jack sounds a bit too smug for my taste.

I glance at "Oog", I glance back to Jack, sizing him up a bit.

"He is not," I say.

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Too."

"Not."

"Daniel," Jack sighs, and I'm not quite sure why he's smiling, "is that so hard to believe?"

"That he knows where the gate is?" I ask.

"That he knows that I know he knows where the gate is…" Jack starts.

I continue to stare, blinking slowly, and this time, it's not from any concussion induced inability to process what Jack is saying.

"And," he finishes, with that smug little smile of his, "I know," Jack is pointing at himself, "he knows," then pointing at his pal Oog, and finally waiving his hand between him and me, "that we need to know."

What in the…

"What!" I say, a bit louder, and a bit more petulant than I should really. I glance nervously at Oog.

And Oog is looking at me, touches my shoulder much more gently than any other natives I've thus far encountered. Then he draws a circle in the dust on the ground.

"Gaaate," he says.

My jaw drops.

"That's right," Jack tosses in, still smug, " 'gaaate'."

* * *

___tee hee hee... I couldn't resist writing it that way. I know I could have shown all of Jack's hard work... but come on... that would ruin Jack's image. : P_


	13. Follow the yellow brick road

_My god! It's finally here! New content... I think about this story all the time. So... new chapters forthcoming. Same disclaimer. Yadda Yadda._

_

* * *

_

"I can make this _fine_ Jack!"

Dawn has broken and we're on the move. Ogg is leading the way, and Jack is trailing behind me, watching my six as he would say.

For all his joviality the evening before, proud of his successful first contact with the neanderthal, Jack is more reserved now.

I could tell by his stiff posture, by his sharp glances taking in our surroundings, that he was uneasy.

I can't blame him, I'm certainly uneasy myself. I'd feel quite a bit better if Jack were still as loose as he had been back in the cave dwelling.

Now behind me, his crisp steps strongly contrast my clumsy gait.

"Eyes to the front, Daniel."

His voice is quiet and tense, and he gives the command with authority, although it is not harsh.

We don't really have a choice but to follow Oog. The path we're taking seems a bit circuitous, even to me. If there are roads here in this near wilderness, we're avoiding them. Luckily, we mustn't be above the tree line, there is plenty of cover.

It makes the going a bit rough though.

* * *

"Damn it"

I'm not quick enough to catch Daniel as he stumbles, _again_, over yet another tree root. This one was a doosie, and it lays him out flat.

"You all right?"

His eyes are squeezed shut, and his breathing is strained, but not harsh.

"Daniel?" I ask him again - speaking his name is enough.

"I'm fine," he gets out, and pushes himself up on his arms.

The caveman has moved a bit ahead of us, and I look up when I hear his sharp intake of breath. He's poised... for lack of a better term. Minute movements of his head from side to side telegraph that he's listening to something.

Slowly I crouch down and place my hand on Daniel's shoulder, silently telling him to stay put for now.

Daniel slowly lowers himself back to the ground, apprehension clear on his face.

I can feel the heat of Daniel's body beside me; out of the corner of my eye, I see his breath rising in the cold air, clouding the bottoms of his lenses.

I'm looking all around us, straining my ears to try and pick up what's spooked our escort.

He stands stock-still, eyes intense. Then swings to the left, a small grunt accompanying the movement. It looks at once instinctual and powerful; a loose, natural movement. An extension of his clearly superior hearing.

I look that way, and notice Daniel, cautious of any noise he may make, and also of moving too quickly with his continued vertigo, dart his eyes nervously in the same direction.

But it still takes a moment to pick up on the sound of movement in the trees.

As Oog crouches lower into the undergrowth, I follow suit and hope we won't be seen.

Another group of thugs is marching through.

"Damn it!" I breathe out. Loud enough for Daniel to hear, and lock his widening blue eyes with mine.

"They've got Carter."

* * *

_Short, I know. But I've got ideas... good ideas... ... let me know if you want more!_


	14. Success is sometimes fleeting

_Disclaimer still applies. And thank you for all of the reviews! Awesome, awesome. Now I do feel I have to say, anything that sounds vaguely academic I learned from that there internet. So. Mistakes - totally mine._

_

* * *

_

I do not like this at all. Another freakin' _choiceless _day on this _ball _of ice.

So, sure, one objective met. Maybe considered positive, but not going there right now.  
On the one hand, Carter and I are now co-located.  
On the other hand, Daniel is god-knows-where.

He'd better be where I left him. How I'm going to get back to him, I have no idea.

See, Carter, she can take care of herself when it comes right down to it. Probably can't damage these guys bare handed, but I expect she would not only come out alive, but alive and kicking.

Daniel would be hard-pressed to come out of anything kicking. He'd try to come out alive, but the instincts aren't there yet. I've been training Daniel in hand-to-hand personally... and what he needs to learn is how to duck.

Or he could take a page out of Carter's playbook and just go for the goolies. Ouch.

I have no idea where we are in relation to the gate, and it doesn't seem as though Carter has either. Realistically, I took my only allowable course of action. There's no way I could have just let her be taken.

But as I feel the snow soak further into the toes of my boots, all I can think is what the _hell _was I thinking?

I'm afraid I may have preserved the life of one, at the expense of the other.

I take in the downright frightening group closing in around Carter and myself, and I think maybe I haven't even succeeded at that.

* * *

_Earlier..._

"They've got Carter."

"What!" Daniel controls his surprise to some extent, but he's still too loud. I keep my hand firm on his shoulder to keep him under cover.

"Acht!" I ground out, making an abortive motion with my other hand. Now isn't the time.

She's steady on her feet, but looking a little worse for wear. And totally surrounded. Her hands are bound with a roughly woven rope. Her blonde hair stands out, a shock of bright yellow among the matted browns and reds of the locals. They've covered her shoulders with a rag of a fur cloak not too different than the one our own resident cave-man insisted on bundling around Daniel's shoulders.

Daniel, of course, would never offend his host, but the look on his face was... priceless.

They continue out of sight, and while the group isn't moving quickly, I know I don't have a lot of time to come to a decision here.

For Daniel, there's no choice at all.

"We have to go after her Jack."

I just look at him. Maybe I raise my eyebrows a bit. Certainly, I felt incredulous.

"I'll be fine."

Yep. Incredulous. _That's preposterous!_ I feel like saying, but it'd be lost on Daniel. And anyway, he seems content enough to fill the silence.

"Jack, I don't think we're in the same situation we were in on the dark side of P3X-797. T-the... these... people..." and he glanced at Oog somewhat apprehensively as he continued, "do seem anatomically similar to _H. neanderthalensis_ ... although there's just not enough good paleoanthropological evidence to draw realistic conclusions about their behavior... so many sites w-w-were lost due to... glacial activity in the late Pleistocene epoch..."

"Daniel..."

"My point is Jack, while I don't believe these are humans affected by some histamine lytic virus, would we really want to assume their behavior won't be... just as as... _primitive_... as the Touched?"

He had to say it. It's enough that he knows I'm already thinking about that damned planet. But he had to go and corroborate my fears.

And it would be a gross assumption to think otherwise. Sure, our friend here may be into rescuing stray archeologists and sharing cups of tea - but this new group - they could be the same thugs who clocked Daniel in the first place. And I may not be an anthropologist but the cave man here... Oog... seems distinctly nervous to me. And clearly, he didn't run out to greet his buddies.

Keeping my voice low, and isn't _that _challenging right now, I can't help but admonish Daniel.

"The reason you're down here in the brush in the first place, Daniel, is because you're not exactly steady on your feet."

And he isn't either. Lot more coherent, sure. But his balance is whacked.  
Unsurprisingly, he's immune to my attempts to hold him back.

His tone is equally urgent, and sliding, like mine, into frustration.

"They may not have knocked her over the head and dragged her back to camp by the hair, but they're bringing her back for _something _and I can't imagine it's good."

Of course, they were trying to bring _Daniel_ back for something too, but I don't want to think about that right now.

He catches my eye, and even through his smudged, bent glasses, his eyes are wide and his gaze is clear. Focused. Decided.

"She kicked that Mongol's ass, she can hold on while I get you somewhere safe..."

"Jack..". His lips thin as he clips my name.

"They're cutting a swath through these woods, I can track them..."

"Jack." He sees my protests for what they are - me wishing I had another choice.

"Daniel." _Please let me protect you._

"They're _Neanderthals _Jack. We _have _to go after her."

And of course, he's Daniel, so he's absolutely correct.

"I'll manage," he adds.

It's that last statement that worries me.

* * *

_See that cliff? Yes, that one. Go hang off there. Oh! Did I say off? I guess I mean... out. Go hang _out_ there and wait for the next chapter ; )_

_There's a great story by Brionhet called Choose Your Battles - from which I shamelessly cribbed Carter's "going for the goolies" ... its a great read._


	15. That's the plan?

_On a roll - and on with the story! Same disclaimer... Might be my longest chapter yet as well. And thank you reviewers!_

* * *

"_I'll manage," he adds. _

_It's that last statement that worries me._

_

* * *

_

God, I wish I had more time to think.

We're stopped, hanging back from the group we're trailing. The forest is becoming sparser, so I fear we'll be hitting a clearing soon.

If we had to go any faster, I don't think I'd be able to make this. Not that I'll tell Jack. Although, I'm sure he knows.

I have to concentrate just to keep the contents of my stomach where they belong. Jack's hand on my elbow, the other on his MP-5, helps control my balance.

I'm nervous that these natives may not have a language. At least a spoken one.

I haven't had the chance really to attempt much in the way of communication with Oog, what with our needing to be quiet and all, but I don't hear anything coming from the group ahead of us either.

Are they quiet because they're on the move? A hunting party? They certainly make enough noise crunching through this snow.

Damn it, it's cold.

If these guys came from Earth, and really were Neanderthal or something like them, then it seems they haven't continued to evolve much. I mean, they would have had tens of thousands of years! And I have no way to know really, if the small things I noticed in Oog's cave – bedding, rough clay vessels, some decoration – are normal or more advanced.

Why not language? There's debate even today among the scientific community regarding Neanderthal's capability for speech. The physical characteristics necessary for speech are close enough between _H. sapiens_ and _H. neanderthalensis_ that it _should_ be possible.

The Touched didn't seem to have language either – but regained it once cured. Was that from physical morphology – or just the... obscene... hormonal imbalance overriding the speech centers of the brain?

I wish I could remember more. Maybe it was a combination of the two. Even if speech similar to that of modern human weren't possible – they must have _something._ Oog did say "gate" after all. There must be _some_ system to make use of the phoenomes they can articulate, taking into account the anatomical differences in the pharynx...

"They're moving again."

Jack says this very quietly. He's crouched next to me; breathes it in my ear.

"We're going to follow." He's so close I can feel the warm dampness of his breath on my nearly numb skin.

"If anything... _squirrely_._.._happens_, _you need to duck and cover."

I can't help it. "Squirrely?" I mouth at him, looking over top of my glasses.

I know he sees it, but he ignores me. "We're up on three," he says.

"Three!"

* * *

"_That's_ the plan!" I'm whispering and it's all I can do not to raise my voice.

"Daniel, if we keep following, we're going to be out in the open. They're not moving that quickly. We can cut around the outside more quickly than they can... trough... through the middle."

"W-wh-what if, what if they stop? Will we know? Come on Jack... what if … what if there's another one of those transporters in the middle of the field? What if..."

"Daniel, I do _not_ subscribe to Chaos theory." Frustrated with his inability to raise his voice, Jack pokes me squarely in the chest to articulate his words.

Chaos theory? What the...

"What?"

Oops. I guess that one is a bit too loud. Jack doesn't hesitate, he puts his hand right over my mouth like I'm... like I'm two years old.

I should bite his hand.

My eyes widen. Over Jack's shoulder, I see that Oog has finally gotten sick of our bickering. Language or not, his annoyance is easily conveyed. It seems a rather... modern... expression of emotion.

And a very human one at that.

He's moving forward, and I tilt my chin is his direction, Jack's smothering hand and all, gesturing with my eyes and eyebrows, to hope Jack will buy a clue that it appears this is not going to be our decision.

* * *

We're following Oog's lead and moving forward into the clearing. He's stocky and powerful, although not quite as tall as Jack and I. Even so, he's moving nearly silently. Perhaps five foot seven or so to my six feet, and Jack's six-two, he has the advantage staying low to the ground. The clearing really seems to be the beginning of a steppe; the grass isn't terribly tall, but tall enough if we're careful.

Jack is also silent. I'm torn between wanting to damn the man, and being grateful he's so thoroughly competent.

I, however, can't be very quiet on a good – or even great – day. Today is especially challenging.

Jack knows this. Oog certainly knows it now.

Jack stops me with a firm grip on my bicep. Again he leans right into my ear.

"If you can't do this more quietly Daniel, I'm going to have to _carry_ you god damn it!"

I look at him with wide eyes. I'm afraid to voice a response. From ahead of Jack, Oog's heavy hand reaches back and settles on Jack's shoulder to give it a shake.

He and I both look forward.

The group ahead has stopped.

There's no way I can do this more quietly. No way. None.

"Leave me here, Jack." It's barely audible. I have the excuse of having to stay quiet. I won't tell Jack it's because I can barely bring myself to make the suggestion.

His look back is frustrated, angry.

"The _hell_ I will Daniel."

Oog shakes Jack's shoulder again, a bare grunt escaping, vocalized in his throat. He's more tense, and he's looking between us, and Carter's group.

Jack, still facing me, swings around to look.

"Fuck." Short and to the point.

They're coming this way; they're making no attempt to hide in the grass, no attempt to hide the sound of their movement.

In a way that helps because they won't hear us as well as if they were also silent. But surely, they know we're here. They're not coming in a direct line, but they are coming.

Jack gives me a long look. His features are resigned, his own eyes wide and hurt-looking. His thin lips tense into an even thinner line. Without moving his eyes from mine, he takes Oog's hand from his own shoulder, and pulls it over onto mine.

"Oog," he says. And turns to look at him. Picking up the hand again, and setting it firmly on my shoulder, as if to reiterate his meaning, he says "Daniel. _Stay with Daniel._"

Oog looks at him. Obviously considering.

"Daniel," he says again. Patting Oog's hand on my shoulder. "Gate."

"Daahn-el," Oog confirms. "Gaaate."

My god. _Jack taught a neanderthal English..._

Jack lets go. Crouching, moving silently through the grass and snow, a good distance away from us. I know my jaw is dropping. I know what it is he's doing, and I know why, but all the same, I can't believe it.

I stay stock still, with Oog's hand tightening on my shoulder, trying to keep my breathing quiet even though it's getting rougher by the second. My chest is tightening and I'll never tell Jack, but I can feel the sting of my eyes starting to water. What in the hell am I going to do alone out here...

What is _Jack_ going to do?

Once he's more than a few yards away, what was before a silent movement, becomes anything but.

The grass in his direction starts to crinkle and crack... crunching noises of both dried ground cover and of his boots sinking onto those areas deeper with snow are shockingly loud in the quiet. Ahead of him, a startled flock of snow birds takes flight.

Jack's careless passing does exactly what he wanted, and our pursuers turn their attention in his direction.

Silently, Oog is pressing closer to me, placing himself between the threat and I, covering me with his body. I sink closer to the ground. I don't want this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to _accept_ this from Jack. I don't want him to do this... _for me.  
_

"Hey!"

Shit Jack! _Shit!_

Suddenly, the whole group rushes in his direction. I can only imagine he must have stood up, out of the grass when he... foolishly... shouted.

"You want a piece of me?" He's brave. I'll give him that, but his voice still cracks. I'm sure the next time I see him... and I will see him... he's say it was the cold. "You..." he swaggers out, "wanna … piece... of ME?"

If this weren't so serious, I'd roll my eyes.

As it is, the group is rushing by like a heard of animals, heavy steps pounding, grunting, some shouting. All headed for Jack.

I can't let him do this. No way can I let him do this. I tense my muscles to stand, ready to do _something_ no matter the cost...

"DANIEL! NOW! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

As if! I jump up, but Oog is faster. He grabs me back, pulls me right to his chest as I struggle, and clamps his big hand right over my mouth.

"Sir!" I can hear Sam! She's in with them! Being dragged along, probably by the ropes on her wrists.

God damn it!

"OOG?... DANIEL!" Jack shouts it out... my name more like a command than an attempt to call out to me. An instruction to my current... savior, captor, traveling companion, what have you.

"SIR! Where's Daniel?"

What kind of talk did they have in that cave anyway?

"DANIEL?" Sam is calling out. "Daniel! He's right!"

"OOG! DANIEL, GA..." Jack starts, but looses the syllable as he's tackled to the ground, air crushed from his lungs.

_Ohgodohgodohgod._ I struggle more against the primitive man, shaking my head, rocking my shoulders, trying to get purchase against the ground without making a ruckus... breathing hard through my nose as his hand presses against my mouth. I know I won't break free, but I want Oog to _know_ I'd rather be free... I need to be free.

_God_ Jack.

"Daahn-el. " Oog says quietly in my ear, a parody of what Jack had done earlier. Jack's proximity, even something as simple as the warmth of his words, his breath... makes me feel safe. Oog's does anything but.

I _know _I'm supposed to be a communicator. I just... I'm so confused right now. God I'm so confused. I feel my muscles go limp, I hear my own breathing, my heart pounding. Probably some sort of shock.

He know's my name. He's taking me with purpose.

"...BACK ... TH... GATE!..." Sam's voice is smothered by the crowd around her, quieted by the pounding in my ears.

I'm leaving Jack behind.

"SIR!" I hear Sam shout, shocked. Panicked really.

The group of primitives is making more noise now. Like... like the Touched. God... no more need to keep quiet. They've succeded in their hunt.

I wonder if Sam was the bait?

"Daahn-el..."

God, I'm leaving Jack behind. I'm leaving them both behind. And there's nothing I can do about it.

" ... Gaaate."

And with that, I'm dragged back toward the tree line.

* * *

_Gasp! What will Daniel do now? What to find out? Drop me a line! Shiny button, bottom of the screen? Yeessss... eeegggcellent!_


	16. How could he, indeed

_It's been a long, long time - but alas - and update! Let me know what you think!_

* * *

"Sir, let me take a look."

"I'm not in the mood for poking and prodding Captain."

After hours of being dragged further and further away from where I last saw Daniel, our merry band has finally halted for the night. I hope I made the right call with Daniel. I mean, yes, I'm trusting this … man… to deliver Daniel safely to the gate. I'm trusting that he even really knows what I'm talking about.

I don't even know where the gate is. And does Daniel have a GDO? Shit. I doubt it.

But Dannyboy certainly knows enough addresses. At the very least, he can go through to the Land of Light and use Tuplos' GDO, right?

That's assuming he'd even go… and that our friend Oog doesn't take him through somewhere else.

Really, I should have sent them back to Oog's cave… home… but I'm not sure I would have been able to communicate that.

Damnit, my head hurts. Now I know why Daniel's so looped, these guys pack a punch.

"Please, Sir." Carter's voice is very low, interrupting my thoughts. "The blood will run into your eyes, Sir."

I see her raise her bound hands, the rough rope in my peripheral vision. She has a rag of some sort in her hand… a handkerchief? I eye it, dubiously.

"It's clean sir," she said. "I…"

"Yes Captain?"

"I carry a few extra, sir." Still hesitating. "For Daniel."

Of course she does. I pinch the bridge of my nose, a mannerism I think fleetingly, I must have picked up from the archaeologist.

I let her dab at the cut along my scalp – doesn't feel too bad, but scalp wounds bleed a lot. Being weak from blood loss isn't on the top of my list, so…

"Sir?"

I glance at Carter, she's looking a bit worse for wear herself, but not at all as bad as Daniel had.

"They treat you OK, Carter? Are you hurt?" Did I ask her already? God, I'm not sure.

"I'm fine, Sir. Cold, tired, but fine." She pauses, and glances at me uncertainly. "Sir," she starts again. "Permission to speak freely, Sir?"

I'm not sure what she wants to say, but I nod in a way I think is encouraging, what with her still dabbing at the cut, and the battalion of Jaffa trying to march their way out of my skull.

"I would have been OK Sir. You…" and she straightens, as though she's putting more "Captain" into her bearing, "You shouldn't have left Daniel for me, Sir."

"Captain…" I begin, but she continues, with a little less confidence, and clearly a lot more worry.

"Sir, I have level 3 hand-to-hand combat training… I'm… I'm sure you could have followed me eventually… I'm unhurt…" and her voice cracks a bit on the last.

"Carter…"

"You said he was concussed? All this time? Sir – it could… it could be a more serious injury! He's… he's…"

"He's what, Captain?"

Her voice is very quiet now, all the confidence, bravado, whatever it was, gone from her stance.

"He's a civilian, Sir." She nearly whispers. "How could you leave him behind?"

Damn.

* * *

God… Jack! How could I leave him behind?

I don't remember much after Oog dragged me to the treeline. True to form as of late, consciousness was fleeting – and while this time I would admit an outright swoon – I have no idea how long I've been out.

Captain-Doctor Carter's last frantic call chills me to the bone more than this damn planet could ever manage.

It's fully dark when I wake. My back is cold and damp from lying on the ground for some undetermined amount of time. A crackling noise, and the play of light and shadow brings my attention to a fire nearby.

I roll to my side, taking in the blurred shape across from me, hunched near the fire. Squinting doesn't really help bring the shape into focus in the near dark.

No glasses then. But the shape moves with familiar mannerisms, and the light catches his fur cloak.

The caveman, Oog.

And behind him, a vast darkness, too dark to be the open landscape. When the firelight catches just right looks to be stone of some kind, glinting around the edges in the flickering flame, indistinct in the poor light.

Were we successful after all?

I sit up slowly, cursing my still pounding head. Its been long enough that I feel I should be improving, and right now, I don't think I am. I'm going to have to put that aside at the moment. I don't have a radio, I don't have a GDO, so I'm not sure exactly what my plan will be yet – but – if we really have made it to the gate, I'll take being one step closer.

"Daahn-el?" He sees the movement as I struggle my way upright, and before I see him move, Oog is supporting me behind my shoulders. Surprisingly, he hands me my worse-for-wear glasses.

"Thank god," I breathe. Slipping them on improves my vision some, although even with the lenses, my night vision leaves much to be desired. As Oog moves next to me, still hovering close, his features come into focus, reflecting the light of the fire. Even with the warmth, I still see his breath, and my own.

This area doesn't look familiar. And its too cold and damp to be the vast desert expanse we originally gated to, so like Abydos it hurts.

"Daahn-el," he beings quietly, gesturing toward the darkness, "gaaate."

I look at him questioningly. I'm getting a very bad feeling about this.

"Where?" I nearly whisper, my apprehension is showing through, I know. But it's hard to control. Concussion and poor vision aside, I think I would have noticed the Stargate looming in front of me. Is it further in the distance? Beyond the glow of the fire?

Oog seems to understand my query, and again gestures straight ahead. I look more closely at the glinting stone.

I try to stand; Oog sees this and helps me to my feet. Shuffling around the fire, with the impact of the bright flames and obscuring smoke lessened, the features of the stone darkness come into better focus.

Oh god.

Oh, _damn._

This is no Stargate.

* * *

_I have some new ideas on how to get this story moving - let me know if you'd like me to continue! Thanks._


	17. Amigo, Amico, Ami?

_Another chapter? So soon? Don't get too excited - I think it takes at least three to be a trend. Not the longest, not the shortest - perhaps at this juncture - just right. Enjoy - and THANK YOU to my reviewers! Made my day!_

* * *

Sometime before dawn we resumed our trek to wherever this crew was dragging us. Stopping for rest did some good, as did Carter's attempt to play doctor. Well, medical doctor anyway. At least the bleeding stopped. Still feel hung over – but it should pass.

Carter is still wound up. Try as I might, she's not buying that I left Daniel for *Daniel* and not for her. It was not at all an easy decision. And, in hindsight, probably not a great one. But if these guys hadn't decisively turned in our direction, we'd still be trailing Carter and not in the mix.

"Look, I know you can handle yourself, Captain," I'd said. "You don't need to arm wrestle me to prove it," I'd added in an attempt to lighten the mood, which fell flat of course.

"Sir," she'd responded. Her tone was almost pleading, and it was not at all easy to continue with the look in her wide, blue-grey eyes.

When did I start feeling the need to _convince_ my subordinates of something?

When did I stop being the hard-ass Colonel?

Why wasn't I just telling the Captain here to suck it up?

Was it because she was a woman? I doubted it – she's tough as nails when needed, and I admit – _way_ – smarter than I am. Not as experienced, granted. And this trek, separation… situation… clearly has her rattled.

It takes more than a pair to be a fighter pilot – I've seen Carter's record – she's good. At least running missions over the Gulf you have the security of your bird. The objective is clear, the enemy is clear, your team is there to back you up, and you know your fighter can get you home. Air superiority is a great thing – it helps win battles – it gives you confidence – once your objective is in the bag, you're pretty damn sure you're going to make it back. Everything else is lost in the dust.

On the ground? Not the same story – and not something you can learn in the classroom. Carter is in for an education – but like I said, way smarter than me. She'll adjust.

Nope – I think this… softening… on my part has nothing to do with Carter – big, blue-grey eyes and all.

There's another blue-eyed scientist to blame for that one.

Yes – Daniel is concussed. Yes – Daniel is hypothermic. Yes – Daniel was out on his feet even before stepping through the gate. He's underfed, under-rested, overactive, and overwhelmed more often than not. He's been staying at my house – I see him stumble into awareness every morning, I hear him fail to let it flee every night.

Leaving him was _so_ not an easy decision.

Through all our experiences together – I am absolutely sure of one fact - despite appearances, and despite his truly trying circumstances – Daniel is _not_ fragile.

He comes across as a soft academic – and sometimes as downright flaky. But I saw him on Abydos – sure – he's lacking in skill, in training – but I know – Know - he's got more balls than most of the career soldiers I know.

But Carter doesn't know this yet. I know what she sees – I'd be a fool not to acknowledge the effect Daniel has on people – and on women in particular. She hasn't seen him in action yet. He was hurt on Chulak – subdued through the fighting from the slam into the wall at the hands of Apophis. Agonized by the kidnap and possession – brutalization – of his wife. Shattered by the loss of his only family.

I know what that kind of lowness feels like. I know how it overshadows your entire being.

And Carter's only seen Danny _low._ Except for their very first meeting, she hasn't been able to see him for what his is – what he's truly capable of.

God, I hope he's capable of it now.

"Carter," I said. "Don't flatter yourself too much."

Aha! That got a tougher look from her. Good.

I continued, "Daniel's not as bad off as you think. He's not…" I searched for the right word. "incapacitated." Not completely, anyway. I left off the details – including the fact he'd become so very quickly, or worse, if he took a clobbering like I had.

"He's tough, and he'll make it to the gate."

I hope I've convinced her.

_Hell_, I hope I've convinced myself.

A few flakes are drifting to the ground in front of me as we continue our trek, and even with the sun rising, the temperature hasn't come up much at all. The sky is a deep grey, heavy with moisture. It's going to snow alright. We'll all be in trouble if we stay out in the open.

"Sir?" Carter is saying, touching my arm and bringing me out of my reverie.

Not a hundred percent after all – I hadn't caught that we'd stopped.

We've been moving steadily toward the foothills, now so close it was hard to separate the sky from the mountains. Where the hell are we?

Then, I see it.

"Speak Friend, and Enter," I mutter.

"Sir?"

As if carved into the hillside. A great archway, almost completely circular, each supporting wedge of stone containing a symbol I sure as hell couldn't recognize – not that that was saying much. Almost reminiscent of the Stargate…

"Fuck." I bite out.

Carter is still looking at me questioningly. She's not getting it. Not the inappropriate aside – and not what this means for Daniel.

"Carter," I pause to gain some control of my voice. "I'm getting a very bad feeling about this."

* * *

_OK. Maybe a little smarmy. Couldn't resist. Hmmm... I suppose it may be predictable what this means for Daniel - but - that remains to be seen! Let me know if you'd like more..._


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